


Call of the Rebel

by kaycrow



Category: Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaycrow/pseuds/kaycrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the powerless Slave to the mighty Roman, the Call of the Rebel falls upon us all... Set during episode 1x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The rain had come and gone and the heat was unbearable. Ilithyia leaned her cup to the slave standing at her side - Naevia, she thought her name was, not that it actually mattered to her - silently demanding “more wine” in her natural haughty way. Both present company and offered activities were unworthy of her time, she thought, so she decided to make the moment more… entertaining.

“Rome is positively aflutter with news of Theokoles’ defeat. No one believed such a thing was possible… Especially at the hands of a Thracian.” She finished, accentuating the nationality with more than a hint of hatred, as she sipped her wine, which, she thought, was also below her standard. She paid no attention to the response Lucretia supplied her with, instead, focusing her mind on more... intimate matters.

“And does your good fortune extend downward?” She asked abruptly, eyes glimmering in hope.

“I do not follow” Lucretia said, causing Ilithyia to sigh at her answer. “The Priestess. Has her fertility rite born any seed?”

“I was unable to conclude the rite within the allotted time.” Lucretia looked downward, although the discomfort of the subject was painted on her face. “My husband was sadly absent”. 

A thought past through Ilithyia’s mind, causing her to smile. She intended on receiving a satisfying answer to this one.

“What of the other man?” She leaned closer to her new friend, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “You still have not told me anything about him. Is it Solonius? I have seen the way he looks at you.”

Lucretia's face contorted in disgust, “I would rather fuck an eel!” 

“The thought of his naked cock is rather distressing... no, a woman as beautiful as you deserves a real man. Someone of position maybe...?”

“...He is no one of note.” Lucretia finally admitted.

“No one of note... Someone more physical, perhaps…” Her eyes roamed throughout the room and onto the balcony, causing her to remember the habitants of the ludus beneath them, and it came to her. “A slave?!”

The sound of voices suddenly seemed to boom throughout the room, causing an abrupt stop to their conversation, leaving her utterly unsatisfied. It was Batiatus, accompanied by a woman, his arm crossed with hers, and both followed close by two slaves, a man and a woman. The man belonged to her husband, she was sure, but the woman, fair in age and beauty, should regard to her new guest. Lucretia did not fail to notice the sudden change in Ilithyia's demeanor as she examined the new parties.

Batiatus' eyes fell upon the woman, "what a delight that I should have stumbled upon such a goddess while in the markets." At the sight of Ilithya, the woman ran towards her, linking their arms as one.

“You flatter” she said to Batiatus, in a mist of grace and modesty.

“Lucretia, I present you my beloved sister, Cassia” Ilithya spoke joyfully, still embracing her kin.

Lucretia bowed, “I’m honored.” She could see the resemblance: both fair-skinned, long golden hair, fallen in wide curls past their shoulders, athletic figures, and not any less important, the deep blue eyes, capable of hypnotizing even the most chaste of men. 

Cassia released her hold on her sister and enveloped Lucretia with a hug, her form of a humble gesture of gratitude for the lovely hospitality, something Lucretia suspected Ilithya was incapable of perform.

“We must attend to our business affairs, assuring you are left in trusted hands.” Batiatus said, smiling towards his wife. The three women walked forward, towards the balcony. Now that they were free of the company of certain husbands, Ilithyia wished to return to the previous subject of discussion. “How fairs Crixus?” 

Her quest caught Lucretia is caught off guard, forcing her to hesitate with her response, and giving Ilithyia all the proof she needed.

“Crixus?” Cassia questioned, as she was not familiar with the theme of discussion.

Ilithyia looked to her sister, "he is one of Batiatus' gladiators." She turned back towards Lucretia, who appeared to have regained her composure. "His injuries, suffered against Theokoles. Is he expected to live?”

“His strength returns.”

Ilithyia smiled widely, “Joyous news. It would be a great tragedy for such a man to pass from this world, would it not?” She wanted to defy Lucretia, who simply responded with a smile, as she refused to confirm what Ilithyia had already discovered.

The bait had been sent to the snake pit.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Half a day had passed and now the gladiators began to enjoy their well-deserved break, complete with stew and bread, luckily enough. Spartacus watched as the cook ladled the grotesque liquid into his bowl before noticing the face before him. He spooned an extra portion to the champion and smiled wide, revealing his rotting teeth.

“Sheep entrails with beets! Euclid’s finest dish! All thanks to your glorious victory over Theokoles.” Ashur clapped his hand to his arm with a firm grip.

“I make no such boasts,” Spartacus simply replied, as he attempted to side-step him, to no success.

“Such modesty. A refreshing change from the previous champion. Our ludus truly fortunate. If ever a need arises; food, wine...” Ashur leaned, and spoke in a whisper, "perhaps something to quench a darker thirst...”

“I need nothing from you,” Spartacus silenced the man, and headed toward more worthy company.

“What did the shit want?" Varro asked.

“Nothing of importance. How did you fare?”

Varro hesitated and frowned, as he did not understand the meaning of his friends words.

“...In your game of dice and bones."

“Poorly, as I often have. I will balance the loss at next chance –“ His sentence fell short has a pigeon fluttered up on the table, lifting a small amount of dirt at the waving of its wings. Varro shoved it away, and both men at the table paused as they spotted Euclid tried to thrust off several more pigeons that had endangered his serving table.

“It would seem Pietros has lost control of his flock,” Varro remarked.

“Then we shall seek cause for such acts from the man himself.”

Spartacus moved through the corridor, followed by Varro, as the pigeons scampered around them. The air surrounding the Pietros' chamber became heavy and dreadful. He looked upward and stopped, finding not the strength to enter. As Varro approached he froze at the sight.

With a soft, sad voice, Varrow spoke, "the boy has freed himself."

Pietros hung lifeless from a beam in the ceiling. The image caused Spartacus' blood to boil, eyes fill with rage. He stormed off towards the training square, as Varro desperately attempted to reach him.

In the ludus Gnaeus stood with a smirk, peering down at Rhaskos as he touched the tip of his trident spear to his face.

“Gnaeus!”

As Gnaeus turned Spartacus slammed into him, both men falling hard to the ground. The fellow gladiators laughed and cheered at the unexpected violence, as Spartacus thrust his fists up and over again at the stunned and bloody face of Gnaeus. He finally was able to shove Spartacus away, but scrambled to his feet, as he tried to recover his senses. Spartacus waited not a moment before striking again, his eyes wild with rage, and fists claiming revenge. Spartacus thrust Gnaeus back, both coming dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Then he reared back, decided to finish him off, but the crack of a so familiar whip stopped him.

“Enough!” Doctore demanded, coiling his whip in his hands. The square fell into silence, as no man was brace enough to defy the orders of Doctore. “What is this foolishness?”

“Pietros. The boy has taken his own life” Spartacus explained, with hatred.

“He will be missed” Gnaeus smirked, “especially his lips around my cock!”

Spartacus felt his entire body tremble with a savage rage he had never thought existed in him. He swung with all his strength, launching his powerful fist at Gnaeus' jaw, lifting the man off his feet and sending him over the cliff, soon to meet with the rocks below. No words were spoken.

***  
From the balcony the Romans had watched the fight, motionless. At the first sign of brawl Batiatus ran towards the porch, quickly followed by his wife and their guests. As soon as Gnaeus fell down the cliff, Batiatus left them, cursing and swearing.

“Still having troubles with the Thracian, Lucretia?” Ilithyia asked, with a provocative smile.

“The pet proves hard to tame” the woman simply replied, the distaste hung on her hips.

Cassia smiled, “I find him very interesting, rising from shit to Champion, he must be truly blessed by the Gods. Wouldn't you say?" 

“He’s nothing but a FUCKING ANIMAL!” Ilithyia screamed, storming off with Lucretia following closely behind.

Cassia leaned against the railing, sighing as her companion poured her some wine. Since she was born Cassia struggled with everyone's almost-obsessive attitude towards her father, the illustrious Senator Albinius. As always expected of her, she failed where her sister had prospered. Ilithyia was a proper Roman woman, devoted to her land, family and husband, while Cassia had none of those things nor possessed those valued qualities . Her only comfort was an unexpected former-slave who worked for her, in exchange for coin and shelter. The girl, a few seasons younger than herself, had long light-brown hair that fell in waves, and the most beautiful shade of hazel eyes she had ever seen. Beauty beyond compare, Cassia had to admit. 

“Rhea,” she called, extending her arms outward. She seemed hesitant, for that was not a proper action for a Roman to take, but said nothing, as she knew Cassia always did as she pleased, regardless of what people might think. Rhea noticed Doctore’s staring eyes as she spoke, “we should avoid curious gaze, people might talk…”

“Then let them talk!” Cassia replied, with a warm smile. “Can I no longer embrace my dearest friend?”

Rhea smiled in return, concealing the affliction that emerged by the second. The ludus was a dammed place she hoped to avoid, but its twine pulled her downwards once more, giving shallow meaning to her freedom.

***

Batiatus was bursting with rage. One if his most notorious gladiators was dead, killed by the fucking Champion of Capua.

“This morning I boasted the top Retiarius in all of Capua! Now I possess nothing more than bones and brains scattered upon the rocks!”

“Apologies.”

“Fuck your apologies! I shall have return for the value lost! The price of the man will be subtracted til the remainder is balanced!”

“As you see fit, Dominus.” Spartacus replied, the indifference clear in his voice. Batiatus paced back and forth through the room, growing more and more agitated with the man.

“All of this because of what? Pietros? He was nothing. Shit from a whore.”

“He was a man. His life had worth.”

He waves his hand in front of his face, brushing off his comment as meaningless. “Half a coin at most. Yet Gnaeus was a gladiator! Years of training, each mounting to exorbitant cost. That is true worth!”

“He did not deserve to live.” Spartacus added with anger. Batiatus, growing sick of the other man’s boldness, raise hand in a fist, punching him hard across the face.

“I alone decide who lives! Not you! Not a fucking slave!” His hands flew to his hips as he fought to reign in his frustration. "My generosity has been boundless, yet you defy me still.” He paused, now hesitant to share the news he once greeted with excitement. "Good Mercato's games are fast approaching. He has extended an invitation for you to fight in the primus, portraying his grandfather, Marcus Minucius Rufus. I suspect you have heard of him, known for his aid in the defeat of the Thracian hordes."

"...I will not fight."

Batiatus had made up his mind and would not allow his slave to defy him. "I expect you to fight as a loyal Roman. Or die a Thracian."

 

***

Naevia stood over the dead form of Pietros. Her eyes filled with tears, as she observed more minutely the red welts around his neck, from where he hung himself. Crixus watched her from the bed where he recovered from his wounds received at the hands of the Shadow of Death, not understanding the meaning or reason for her tears.

“You shed tears for the boy?” 

She nodded, shifting her weight against her feet. “His passing saddens me.”

“The boy was weak without Barca to protect him."

She turned and looked towards him, the hurt present in her eyes. “Not all of us can be strong." As she turned to exit her body collided with that of Spartacus, being lead towards the Medicus, needing his wounds to be tended to.

“Still making friends, are we?”

“A minor disagreement with Gnaeus."

“From which you emerge the mangled cunt. Did his little net prove too fierce an opponent?”

He scoffed, “question the man himself. If you can scrape enough of him from the cliffs for reply” 

Crixus lifted his head off the cot in surprise, “Gnaeus is dead? What cause have you to claim his life?”

“My reasoning lies forever silent” Spartacus said, as his eyes fell on Pietros’ body.

“Your actions betray us all. Gnaeus was a gladiator!” Crixus lifted his arm, showing the brand they shared. “A brother”

“He was no brother of mine!"

“You swore the oath. Every man here is your brother, deserved of an honorable death in the arena. I am shamed to have fought by your side”

“You speak as if you had choice in the matter”

“I did. I chose not to end you in the arena and be done with your shit. A decision I presently regret.” Crixus dared, locking eyes with Spartacus, expecting a fight or harsh words in return. 

Crixus' words came as a revelation to him, the grief he had presently forgotten over the recent death of his wife rushed to the forefront of his mind. “As do I.”

***  
Gaius Claudius Glaber had arrived as the sun set upon the horizon. His impatience and arrogance soon affected both hosts and guests, who fell in ill mood. After supper, Cassia had decided to remove herself away from such unwanted company, wishing to spend the rest of the evening alone, gazing the stars from a balcony. She unfortunately found her plans shifted, as undesired presence followed her to her wanted destination.

“Why do you stand alone? Where is your slave?” Glaber asked, as he approached

“I sent Rhea to rest, thoughts of being alone appearing welcome tonight."

“There is no reason why you should be alone,” he smiled tenderly, as she turned to face him. “I bring offers of wine and enjoyable presence.”

Cassia’s body tensed at their proximity. Long ago she had desired him to want her but now, as the opportune moment presented itself, she felt no want to engage in past thoughts. “I would rather enjoy the wine.” She snatched the small clay jar from his hand, and walked away, in a final warning. “Alone.”

***

Spartacus' cell was shrouded in silence while he fingered Numerius’ Thracian dagger in his hand, letting the coolness of its metal run along his skin. Any memory he still had of Sura was blurred by the image of her bleeding to death in his arms. For the first time, he considered using the dagger for something more than revenge, for relief. His relieve. 

Suddenly a loud noise caught his attention, as he noticed someone at the square. He hid the dagger before walking outside, as Sura’s words echoed in his mind. There is always reason to live.

A woman stood at the edge of the cliff. A roman. At first sight she seemed to be Ilithyia, and the thought of her falling of the ledge proved to be a welcomed one, but as she turned to face him he saw someone else. The latest guest in the house of Batiatus.

“I would offer the Champion of Capua some wine, but the jar slipped from grasp.” She smiled, turning her attention again to the immensity of the night.

He walked slowly towards her, not knowing her intentions. “It’s not wise to stand at the edge, you might trip and fall to unwelcomed death.”

“I do not fear death” she smiled at him, but the underlying sadness did not go unnoticed. Spartacus stood beside her, both sets of eyes gazing at view without a word for a moment until Cassia finally broke the silence. “How does it feel, to take a man’s life in the arena?”

“Do you enjoy witnessing the deaths?”

“No. I find my mind wanders to what they must be thinking before their life is taken from them.”

He shifted, his eyes lingering on the practice swords that had been left out in the open. "Do you wish a lesson?” he walked towards them, noticing that since Pietros' death proper care had not been paid to them. He grasped two and handed one to the woman standing before him.

Spartacus swung first, one easily avoided which she dodged perfectly and, for his surprise, thrust one herself.

“Have you ever managed a sword?” he asked, amazed, as they stood face to face, only swords between them. Instead of answering, Cassia revolved her blade in his, separating the weapons, and then again she attacked. But her moves were easily read. He ducked from her attack, slipped behind her, and pressed the blade gently against her neck.

Spartacus slid his free hand down her side and grabbed her one, guiding her two fingers upwards. “The Missio. It means you surrender to the wish of the crowd and the desires of the ones standing in the pulvinus.”

Cassia’s heart-rate quickened as she shifted her body and looked at him. "I will not surrender."

Suddenly a voice shouted, as her companion entered the square. “Cassia, come quick, Ilithyia seeks you, Glaber is leaving”

Cassia released his hand, and before walking away she turned to face Spartacus one last time “You fight tomorrow, at the games? He nodded, and she gave him a soft smile. “Then I shall sheer for your victory”

“A dangerous thought to share for one who stands with Glaber's wife.”

“There is only one thing I fear in this life, and it is not the man”


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Last night events weighed on his mind. The woman, whom the slave called Cassia, seemed to be nothing like what he expected of a Roman; she drank too much, as it seemed, held a sword better than some of his fellow men, he had to admit, and worst, she bonded with a slave, a gladiator. The forbidden seems something she gladly defies, mocking the traditional Roman rules. A quality he also gladly possessed.

The day light shone through the small space between the door and the ceiling, as Batiatus entered Spartacus' cell, forcing his present thoughts to depart form his mind. “We leave for the games. Is your decision made?” he asked, his voice sounding defiant yet his body language betrayed his attempt to show his power.

“It is,” Spartacus simply replied, as he lifted his body and offered Batiatus the knife.

“What sort of answer is this?”

“A gesture. Sura spoke often to me of the gods. She believed in them. I never truly have.”

Batiatus raised his voice, mocking with a grin “The cock on you, daring to doubt the gods!”

“And I have suffered much for it. But no longer. From this moment forward... I give myself over to her beliefs... and embrace my fate.”

A slow smile spread across Batiatus’ lips, as he recognized the victory over the Thracian rebel. “Your words give my heart great joy. Enough even to erase questions of how a blade belonging to the Magistrate’s son came to your possession. Let us place the past truly behind us. Mercato’s games await you.”

Spartacus insisted, even if afraid of Batiatus reaction “I have but one condition.”

“Condition? You kiss my cheek only to finger my ass?! Speak! Before I carve out your fucking tongue.”

“I will take to the sands against the spectre of my countrymen. But I will face them alone.”

Batiatus tensed once more. Should he risk is main income? “Six to your one? I will not risk the Champion of Capua to such absurdity.”

“If this is my fate, if this is the path the gods have truly set me upon... then they will not see me fall. Not yet.”

“And if you are wrong?”

“Then I will give your city a great spectacle of blood... before I join my wife.”

Batiatus considered the slave standing in front of him. Less than a god, yet far more than a man. “The gods have brought you this far. I believe they are not done with you yet. Nor am I.”

“You will allow me to fight alone?”

“With a condition of my own. When you kill the last of these shits garbed as your countrymen, what remains of the Thracian inside you dies with him. You will embrace this fate of yours... and your destiny as Spartacus, Champion of Capua.”

***

Spartacus stood at the gate, fully dressed as a Roman General, albeit without his helmet. He carried a sword in each hand, as his famous opponent Theokoles once had. He looked out to the arena, his eyes cold as steel, as the crowd cried out at the sight of the six prisoners, now being led onto the arena’s sand. Each one of them dressed as a Thracian soldier, Spartacus realized, very similar to the garments he had worn not too long before. He looked up, to the pulvinus, when Batiatus stepped onto a podium and raised his hands for the announcement. A man he didn’t recognize, Lucretia, Ilithyia and Cassia stood behind him, and as Spartacus stared the woman, he now realized he felt drawn to, his gaze crossed hers for only a moment, but enough to race his heart near ripping flesh and run away.

The moment did not last as Batiatus' voice pervaded the arena. “Citizens of Capua! Today, we honor the noble Marcus Minucius Rufus. A Roman Consul and Commander unmatched in glory. As tribute, good Mercato has seen fit to reenact his grandfather’s most famous battle against the Thracian hordes!” The crowd cheered and Mercato rose. After a small moment, Batiatus returned to his task. “Gaze at the prisoners standing before you. And imagine the Thracian Maedi that invaded Macedonia. Raping and pillaging its noble people. Murdering all in their path... even a Roman Governor! Violence and madness swept the land. Echoing into the heavens, where the gods themselves turned their backs. All seemed lost, until Rome dispatched her favored son..." his gesture turned the attention to the gate which Spartacus presently stood behind. "Enter Marcus Minucius Rufus!"

The gates opened and Spartacus marches out, to the cheers of an explosive crowd. The picture of the Roman Legion’s finest. Batiatus had set up the event, now he shifted gears to hype his own goods. "For the honorable role of Rufus, there was but one choice. The Bringer of Rain! Slayer of Theokoles! And Champion of Capua... I present to you -- Spartacus!!!"

The crowd yelled madly at this announcement as chants echoed defly throught the arena. Ilithyia glowered, annoyed, as she noticed even her beloved sister seemed to be enjoying the introduction of the fucking Thracian ."I thought it was your grandfather we honor. Yet the crowd chants Spartacus" Ilithyia spoke, hoping Mercato would dislike the situation as much as her. But something she did not expected was the voice of her sister, as she claimed "Worry not of details, good Mercato. The glory remains your grandfather’s alone," she added, softly.

Batiatus grinned at Mercato's smile. "Could not have spoken better words myself!" Hee turned his attention back to the Mercato. "Come! Give the signal to begin his glorious victory!" Lucretia nodded to Batiatus, as then held Cassia's forearm, giving her an thankful grin -- "nicely played," she thought.

"Let blood be shed!"

The crowd roared as the prisoners took their places to attack, but Spartacus remained motionless, paying them no attention whatsoever. He then turned his head slightly upward, as he considered the clouds and the heavens. A sad smile bended Spartacus' lips, as the warm sun caressed his face, the gentle breeze playing with the straps of his uniform. He finally closed his eyes, putting his fate in the hands of the gods.

One of the prisoners, surely not impressed by Spartacus magnificent sight, stepped forward and hurled his spear at him. It soared through the air, unmistakably in route towards the Champion, as suddenly, catching a small breeze, altered its course just far enough to miss slamming into Spartacus' face, but close enough for the gleaming tip to draw a thin red line across Spartacus' cheek.

Suddenly, as if awakened, Spartacus opened his eyes and hell was unleashed. Spartacus dodged from the attack of one of them, just in time to move sideways from another's assault. As the prisoner's sword swung through the air, slicing the man's right arm, who screamed in pain as his blood spread onto the sand. Spartacus had no time to react as a prisoner’s sword carved a giant gash across his shoulder blades. One of the men saw an opening and advanced towards Spartacus, and as they got tangled up, but before the others could descend, Spartacus slammed an elbow into the man's throat. As the man hit the sand an axe came towards Spartacus head, who bent out of its way, the axe rotating closer than an inch from his face. Spartacus knew he needed to get to open space.

***

In the pulvinus, Mercato bolted from his seat, thrilled by the hit. Batiatus laughed and swilled wine, as Lucretia eyed the action with wonder.

"He moves as a man possessed."

"By the gods themselves," Batiatus observed, but soon to be silenced, as a prisoner attacked Spartacus with a spear, hitting him across the jaw. The prisoners regrouped, each with but one mission - kill Spartacus. And, for the first time since the beginning of the battle, the Champion felt the odds closing in against him.

A hush had fallen over the arena. The crowd seemed concerned that their champion might not survive, Batiatus observed, as Mercato himself sat panicked, then turned back to the Lanista.

"You do realize my grandfather won this battle?"

Ilithyia was unable to suppress a satisfied grin, as she spoke, "perhaps this day history will not repeat itself"

Cassia did not shy to hide her distaste for her sister's remark, "I believe in Spartacus' victory. After all, he is the Champion."

For a new moment, Spartacus surveyed the Prisoners in front of him. His face hardened with new resolve. If this was his destiny, let it begin now. Spartacus sprinted towards his opponents, a sword gripped tightly in each hand. With his right sword, he fatally stabbed one of the men through the throat. Spartacus then released the sword's grip and ducked just as a man swung his sword at Spartacus' neck. From the sand, Spartacus clutched his remaining sword with both hands and thrust it upward, skewering the man, who vomited blood on Spartacus and the sand below. Spartacus soon rose and then turned his attention to another prisoner, as he hurled his sword at him, blade lodging deep inside the man's skull. Three down, three to go.

The crowd was in fervor, as their champion's wrath fell upon his enemies. Mercato was now far removed from his seat, the thrill and excitement was almost too much for him. Batiatus leaned forward, eager. His eyes alive with purpose. The Gods were by Spartacus' side, with no doubt he would be victorious.

As one of the prisoners stood motionless, the remaining two attempted to work as a team, circling Spartacus, rushing from opposite sides. Spartacus ran his sword through a man's stomach, as the other one thrust his spear at Spartacus' neck, who somehow leaned back, the spear's tip narrowly avoiding his chin. With his right hand, Spartacus grabbed the spear's shaft and yanked it out of the prisoner's hand. He broke the spear in two across his knee and then stabbed the pointing tip through the man's right ear, the spear, and some brains, exiting his left. The prisoner's eyes roll back in his empty head as Spartacus turned and looks for the last prisoner.

The man trembled, terrified, as he fled to the opposite side of the arena, looking for a miracle, some or any sort of way out of that hell. He grabbed the chute's gate and shook it... He was trapped. The man then turned to face Spartacus, stalking over, both swords dripping blood onto the sand. A Roman killing machine. When the man finally realized there was nowhere to flee, he sprinted towards Spartacus, both hands holding his sword above his head, bringing it down with all his might... but Spartacus easily deflected it. The prisoner lost the sword's handle and was sent crashing to his knees, right below the giant image of Spartacus. But the Champion, as he raised his sword, set to deliver the final blow, paused when he saw his own eyes staring back at him. Not Spartacus as he appeared now, but as he did when he was a Thracian, with long hair and beard, face bloodied from battle with Solonius’ men, not so far from the present.

The Thracian Spartacus locked eyes with him, for a moment, Batiatus’ words echoed in his head. To kill this man is to kill his Thracian past. His Thracian self looked up with pleading eyes and, as he uttered but one word, "don’t..."

Spartacus snarled as he brought his sword down with violent fury, decapitating the defenseless Prisoner. Blood erupted from the his neck like a scarlet volcano as his head, back to his own self, tumbled to the sand.

He stood almighty, although exhausted and blood-soaked, absorbing the public’s deafening cheers. His eyes were hard, but there was a certainty there. He is a man who’s accepted his fate. He threw his arms up to the heavens and shouted for the entire world to hear, to never forget.

"I... AM... SPARTACUS!!!"


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Months had passed since Spartacus had decided to bend to the will of the Gods and numerous victories had followed. Each win within the games caused more rumors to swell of a man who is unbreakable, as every slice he took in the arena soiled more the sacred ground with blood of the unworthy. The winnings provided enough coin to please Batiatus, at least for the moment, as he walked through the market, eager see what the new batch of slaves had to offer him.

“Fortune favors us! A fine selection and enough coin to have our pick.”

“Your competitor approaches.” Ashur moved closer and whispered in his ear before nodding towards Solonius as he made his way through the crowd.

Batiatus couldn’t hide his displeasure, his old grudge with his ex-friend cut deep. “You give the man credit beyond his position.” Batiatus, ever the man for social formalities, quickly removed the frown from his face before replacing it with a forced smile. “Solonius! My heart brims with joy! I had hoped to see you here, buying up more men for Spartacus to slaughter!”

The crowd laughed at his arrogant remark, as the far more humble Solonius stepped close towards Batiatus, bowing slightly. “Batiatus... now purse-proud and so potent with charm.”

Batiatus beamed. “How quickly Fortuna shifts her blessings.”

“A fact that beloved Ovidius was unexpectedly made aware,” Solonius remarked with such a tone that Batiatus believe he had his own suspicions when it came to the recent death of the man.

"You speak truth. His murder was a deep tragedy.”

“Indeed. One can never know who is plotting violence, can they?”

“Or when they will commit the act.” Batiatus’ smile curled, punctuating the thinly veiled threat, but it was soon interrupted, as Doctore approached them.

“The auction begins, Dominus.”

“To business, then!” Batiatus said, as he moved away, closer to the podium, with Doctore and Ashur guarding his flank. Solonius glared after them, his hatred for Batiatus expanding exponentially.

Doctore folded his arms together as he moved his mind to the business at hand. “The Gaul, Segovax, demands expense. And perhaps the two German brothers, Duro and Agron.”

“And what of the others?” Batiatus asked Doctore.

“Of little worth.”

The slave trader, a seedy peddler of human flesh, stepped forward to address the crowd. “Good citizens of Capua! Behold the finest offerings of flesh and bone! Loosen your purse strings and bless your house with quality wares! Let us begin with a Celtic Gaul of imposing virtues! I give you Segovax! Skin, his armor! Hands, his steel! Who would claim such a man?! Bid!”

Vibius, a mid-aged man, thin and greasy with no viable ludus to speak of yelled out, “five denarii!”

The trader grinned and clapped his hands together. “Five from good Vibius!”

“Ten denarii!” Solonius rebuttled, immediately drawing the over zealous attention of Batiatus.

“Twelve!”

A private quarell had started between the two, with Solonius' offer and Batiatus' conter-offer “Fifteen!”

“Twenty!”

“Twenty-five denarii!”

Batiatus let out an impatient whisper “I grow tired of bidding...” he could see Solonius smiling, delighted at the prospect of gaining his own Gual.

“One hundred denarii!!” A collective gasp is heard from the crowd and the smirk on Solonius' face vanished without pause.

“A hundred?” the Trader asked, still in shock.

“For the entire lot.” The Lanista explained.

“Sold! To Batiatus! Savior of Capua!”

As the crowd cheered, and Solonius walked away, Doctore showed his apprehension to his master. “Dominus, with respect, your coin exceeds their value.”

“Fuck value! None can be placed on seeing that cock eater’s pride ground beneath my heel.” Batiatus said proudly, before calling out the man itself. “Solonius!”

Solonius stalked towards him, his displeasure strewn upon his face without shame, as he waited for what words Batiatus wished to speak.

“Consider the whores! Perhaps you will have better fortune fighting women in the arena!”

***

With Batiatus away in the market, the opportunity came for Lucretia and Crixus to meet again. To her displeasure, however, it was nothing like she had envisioned; their lovemaking was slow and methodical, a stark contrast to their usually explosive sessions. And there she stood, face barely concealing her disappointment as Crixus climaxed. He rolled off of her, regarded an impassive Lucretia, "have I not pleased you, Domina?"

"Does your cock stand dry?"

"I fear you did not quake. Apologies. My wounds have yet to fully heal."

She smiled softy as her eyes fell to his chest, the deep gash left by Theokoles still visible. "You will recover. And all will be as it was."

The sound of the rushed footsteps of Naevia removed them from their conversation. “Forgive me. Dominus returns from the market."

Lucretia's eyes widened, "out. Quickly!" 

Naevia escorted Crixus through the villa, not a word bein shared between the two. A tense silence hung between them as he looked down upon her, her discomfort written plainly on her face.

"What would you have me do? Domina will grow curious if I refuse her."

"I know."

"I perform as weakly as I can, with hopes she will lose interest."

Naevia paused at the door leading down to the ludus and spoke, without looking at him, "I am not angry with you. It is only... I find it difficult that you and Domina share what we have not. For some time."

Crixus pulled her into a stolen kiss, and spoke with a soft whisper. "Know that you alone occupy my thoughts."

He had wished to continue the conversation and to appease any doubts but the crunch of feet on the ground pulled their attention to the fast-approaching footsteps of a guard. Crixus moved quickly through the gate, giving a final glance at a saddened Naevia before disappearing. An agony burned through him, his heart ripped off his chest, as the epiphany of the conclusion that he would always hurt Naevia if they were to stay in this ludus came to light.

***

Rhea walked in a swift pace through the square, towards the infirmary. Cassia had begged Batiatus to allow her most valued slave to stay and he agreed, knowing that Medicus would appreciate the aid. As she walked inside, the old man was nowhere to be seen.

The sound of the gates opening echoed through the room, causing her to wander as she searched for the origin of the noise. The new recruits were led in by the guards, loincloths being all that the six men were allotted as clothing. As they walked by, one behind the other, the gladiators shouted and jeered at the men, except for Spartacus, who stood silent as he coolly observed the fresh meat being lined up in the training square. Crixus slyly fell in behind Spartacus. Looking at the two men Rhea couldn't help but acknowledge that standing next to one another, the two of them made an odd pairing. She silently made her way towards them, Spartacus being the only one who actually paid her any attention.

“How… Why are you here?” he asked surprised, with low voice.

“I’m to help Medicus, but the man seems to have vanished.”

“Stand beside me.” He reached for her arm to draw her closer, “and hope your presence to pass unnoticed to the men.”

She had wanted to ask Spartacus why he was making such assertions, but as Doctore entered the square, whip in hand, the gladiators swiftly grew silent, and so did she. Doctore surveyed the Recruits with blazing contempt as he launched into his usual commencement speech.

“What is beneath your feet?”

The new slaves eyed the sand in confusion, unsure how to reply. A young man, very courageous or perhaps stupid, finally responded. “Sand?”

The gladiators roared with laughter, but Rhea stood quietly, not quite understanding the source of humour. 

Doctore frowned in disgust as the slave standing next to the one who responded whispered, "fucking idiot.”

Doctore cracked his whip, silencing the laughter. “Spartacus! What is beneath your feet?”

Spartacus stepped forward. “Sacred ground, Doctore! Watered with tears of blood!”

For a moment Rhea was certain that Doctore's eyes had reached hers, but then he turned once again to the recruits, completely ignoring her presence and making her nerves lessen. “Your tears. Your blood. Your pathetic lives, forged into something of worth. Turn your eyes from your gods and fix them upon me. Listen. Learn. And perhaps, live. As gladiators. Now, attend your master!”

Batiatus stepped out, followed by Lucretia, Cassia and a flushed Ilithyia, who excitedly ogled the Recruits below. Naevia and a few attending Slaves hovered in the background.

The Lanista reveled in this particular moment, his chance to let every man know that he held the power in this house. “You have been blessed! Each and every one of you, to find yourselves here, in the ludus of Quintus Lentulus Batiatus! Finest purveyor of gladiators in all the Republic!” The gladiators share a brief cheer, before been silenced by Batiatus' voice. “Prove yourself, in the hard days to follow. Prove yourself more than a common slave. Prove yourself more than a man. Fail, and die. Either here where you stand, or sold off to the mines. Succeed, and stand proud among my titans!

The gladiators roared their approval, the deafening sound echoed through the square, until Doctore ended the cheer with his whip. He surveyed the recruits with dissatisfaction as he continued his “welcoming” speech.

“A Gladiator does not fear death. He embraces it. Caresses it. Fucks it...”

At the same time, in the pulvinus, Batiatus turned his attention to Ilythia, who appeared to be fascinated with the scene below her.

“What have you of the new men?” he inquired.

“They are spectacles! I find myself growing quite fond of this sordid business of gladiators.”

Batiatus and Lucretia shared a glance, sensing opportunity. Lucretia turned to her friend, eager to cease their chance. “Perhaps you should consider purchasing one of your own.”

“A gladiator? I could never… Could I?” Ilithyia wondered for a moment, but her tone of voice said that she had already made up her mind.

Batiatus smiled. “Choose a recruit, and he is yours -- for a nominal fee, of course. Such funds to cover the expense of his upkeep and training.”

Lucretia continued, “each victory in the arena is an honor to his Domina.”

Ilithyia hesitated and raised her hand to her hair in contemplation. Cassia gazed at her sister, the image of the same little girl that she remembered from childhood, easily excitable when presented with treasures, came to mind.

Ilithyia giggled, unable to resist. “Who should I choose?!”

“May I offer suggestion to aid your decision?” Batiatus asked, as he approach the parapet. “Doctore! Our honored guest wishes to assess the recruits’ virtues.”

The Doctore slammed his whip as the Recruits exchange confused glances. “Remove your cloths!” The Recruits hesitantly removed their covering, as the Gladiators exploded in laughter, pointing at each recruit’s manliness, jeering at them -- except for Segovax, who possessed an abnormally large member. Ilithyia eyed him with lust. “The one on the left...”

“Segovax. The Gaul.” Batiatus informed.

“He has truly been blessed by the god Priapus. He is my choice!”

“A fine specimen!” the Lanista agreed.

“A champion to be sure.” Lucretia added.

“Certainly,” Cassia simply said, with a weak smile, as she noticed Rhea standing amidst the gladiators. She was worried about her being there, but only momentarily, once she noticed that Spartacus stood beside her.

Ilithyia beamed and embraced Cassia. “We must celebrate!”

Cassia smiled softy, and Lucretia turned to Naevia. “See to the wine.” Ilithyia giggled, as she followed the slave inside, still holding her sister by her shoulder. Batiatus stopped Lucretia from following after, as he whispered in her ear. “Has a man ever had such a wife?”

“She but loves her husband, and would see him elevated.”

He leaned forward and kissed her lips before ushering her inside. “Maneuver the girl to our purpose.”

Lucretia replied with a conspiratorial smile. She entered the room, and her eyes fell upon the two sisters who were now reclined on a sofa as Naevia attended to their cups. 

Ilithyia was still beaming. “A gladiator of my own, mined from the same lands as Crixus! Do all Gauls possess such... impressive qualities?”

Lucretia smiled politely, choosing to avoid the obvious insinuation. “I have heard it is one of their bolder assets.”

Ilithyia giggled, as she sipped at her wine. “The envy of my friends shall spread like locusts, their hearts devoured.”

Lucretia perked up, knowing full well who Ilythia associated with and she was eager to extend an invitation to those who could lift their house's status. “Who would you torture so? No one of my acquaintance, I hope.”

“Doubtful. Caecilia, Aemilia...”

“And Licinia, I bet,” Cassia suggested.

“Licinia? Cousin to Marcus Crassus?” Lucretia asked.

“The wealthiest man in Rome -- according to him, at least. Licinia in particular enjoys the games.” Cassia informed.

Ilythia rolled her eyes. “More so the beasts who do battle in them…”

Lucretia smiled. “Well, then... you must extend invitation for private introduction to your man Segovax. Here, at the villa.”

“These are proper Roman women! They only mingle with families of equal standing.”

Lucretia forced a smile at the slight. “Perhaps it is for the best. Seeing your man in the flesh would only inflame their envy…”

Ilythia could not resist the thought, Cassia noticed, as her sibling laughed in acquiescence. “I will arrange it. I shall even help you with your hair. We must make you suitable for such elevated company.”

Both Ilithyia and Lucretia smiled as Cassia simply drank more wine. She would need all the help to stand fearless beside the snakes without getting bitten.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Spartacus and Varro sat at a table with bowls of food before them. Varro regarded the recruits as they finish sparring in the training square, under Doctore’s tutelage. “Shit baking in the sun. Seems only yesterday we were of a similar position.”

Spartacus glanced at the recruits, uninterested in the sight before him. “Much has changed.”

Varro’s thoughts fell to his wife and her surprising pregnancy, as he spoke, "much. You became the fucking Champion of Capua. Your myth to echo for a thousand years. And I… became a good friend.”

His spoon tapped against the bowl in an effort to distract from the uncomfortable beat. Their conversational saviour showed itself in the form of Rhaskos, calling from the far corner, as he shook a pair of dice in his hand. “Varro! The dice call your name!”

“And Varro answers.” He said, as he stood to leave, leaving the rest of his dish unattended. Spartacus shot him a look.

“You continue to gamble.”

“A few coins to pass the time. Nothing to concern yourself with. Friend.”

Spartacus watched as Varro moved away, not caring for the provided response. He had wished to give words of comfort, but his attention was swiftly draw to an unmetrecruit as he crashed across a table. Crixus stood above him, a growl upon his lips.

“You fucking wait until gladiators have filled their bellies. If there is any left...” The Gladiators laughed as Crixus ladled huge amounts of stew from the pot into his bowl.

“Crixus!” Spartacus stood and approached the men. He had long since grown tired of his attitude, as Crixus surely had of his. “Let them eat.”

“They must embrace pain and suffering to become gladiators. This is how it is done.”

“Not by you. Let them eat.” Spartacus warned.

The air tensed. It had been far too long since a man dared to defy the formerly-Undefeated Gaul. Crixus wordlessly cursed and tossed his bowl into the pot withdisgust. “Spartacus, the Kind and Gentle, offering hugs and warm kisses.” The man teased, but Spartacus showed no reaction to his words.

“Do not mistake me, Crixus. I give no shit about these men. But you are no longer the Champion of Capua. You do not take lead here. You follow.” He punctuated, forcing his meaning upon him. 

The mess hall had gone quiet. Ashur chewed on a piece of bread, clocking the confrontation with interest, an almost-smile dancing across his lips.

“The man who follows is forever at your back. Something to consider, Champion.” Crixusthreatened, as he moved away, his hatred of Spartacus ever more consuming.

Agron turned to his brother, Duro, and whispered, “fucking Gauls.” He tossed Segovax a withering look, but the man ignored him, as he retrieved the bowl from the pot before approaching Spartacus.

“Much gratitude.” 

“Men should not die with empty stomachs.” Spartacus simply replied.

***

Ashur moved down the corridor with a half naked slave girl on each arm, and a few following behind, escorted by guards. He paused at Rhaskos’ cell, calling for him.

Rhaskos smiled. “End of the month already, is it?”

“According to the calendar which you cannot read.” Ashur consulted a sheaf of parchment with names and figures written upon it. “Your winnings amount to three and a half denarii. Preserve coin, or indulge yourself?”

“When do I ever favor coin over cunt?”

Ashur nodded to a slave girl, who entered the cell and immediately disrobed. “I expect her ass to be returned free from blood.”

“My cock considers both holes equal. Find yourself lucky it does not favor yours,” Rhaskos said, as he removed his subligaria and ushered the girl towards him.

Ashur continued down the corridor, guards and slave girls in tow. Crixus appeared, having been passed by. “Ashur. You pass my cell by mistake.”

He smiled. “The mistake is yours. You do not fight, you are entitled to neither coin nor cunt.”

Crixus glared, his eyes filled with menace. One of the guard’s hands dropped to his sword, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the former Champion.

“The Dominus shall hear of this.”

Ashur tapped his finger to his parchment. “His very hand set the names. Perhaps next month you shall find yourself again among them, should your wounds ever heal.”

Ashur spotted Varro further down the corridor, and yelled towards him. “Varro! A moment.” He hobbled after him, leaving Crixus seething in his wake.

“Your victories amass much coin. Shall I see it transferred to your wife as usual?” Hethumbed towards a slave. “Or would you prefer a small portion applied to more pressing concerns?”

A voluptuous slave girl smiled at Varro, very pleased at what she saw…

***

Spartacus, returning from a bath, moved down the corridor. Sounds of fucking echoed off the walls as various gladiators copulated with the whores. Spartacus slowed as his eyes set upon Varro, in his cell, fucking a woman that was not his wife. Varro caught his eyes... then guiltily turned away, thrusting even harder.

Spartacus shook his head with disappointment, passing the barracks where the newrecruits were sprawled across the floor, exhausted from the day’s training. Agron and Duro eyed Spartacus as he passed, and Agron could not resist commenting on hisdisbelief. “That tiny man is the fucking Champion of Capua?”

“Fucking Romans swell his legend to their advantage. We could easily best the man, Agron,” Duro agreed with his brother.

Segovax, who remained silent until now, finally spoke. “Spartacus defeated Theokoles. The skies wept in honor of his victory. The two of you would present challenge equal to piss and shit.”

The brothers stared the man… then burst into laughter.

“You find my words amusing?” Segovax asked, irritated.

Duro responded, “your words, no.”

Agron glowered,“the stupid fuck that speaks them, very fucking amusing.”

Segovax opened his mouth to counter. “Spartacus is a man to be held as example. A slave that ignites the arena. And one day the flames shall set him free.”

Another recruit, one that sat alone and away from the others in a corner spoke. “I have witnessed such a thing. The roar of the crowd, demanding a gladiator be granted freedom for his showing in the arena.”

Duro gave no importance to the man’s words and leaned back against the wall. “You have not even earned the mark of the fucking brotherhood and you cluck about freedom.”

Agron looked away, as he spoken “Bunch of fucking women.”

But the other recruit continued his speech. “Segovax is right. Spartacus shows us the way. I will train as he trains, every thrust and counter committed to memory. And one day... I too shall become legend in the arena.”

***

Spartacus walked inside his cell, as he tried to forget the imagine of his frienddishonouring his wife. As he looked up, Cassia stood at the bed playing with the bowl in her hands, too distracted with her own thoughts to even notice the Thracian’s arrival. He observed her quietly for a moment, until she noted his presence and rushed towards him.

“Here, I brought you figs,” she smiled, handing him the bowl. He reached for it and placed his hands upon hers, neither wanting withdrawing. He lingered, before seizing it away from her and placed it down onto the end table. He turned to look at her, his irresistible smile dancing upon his sun-dried lips. An inexplicable heat rushed through her and she stepped forward, wanting to draw her mouth to his. But before their lips could touch, Cassia stepped back and quickly slipped passed him, walkingtowards the door, but she stopped short as Spartacus called for her. 

"Cassia. Please, don’t go." Her name, those words spoken upon his mouth hit her as a blade through her stomach. She stood for a second, eyes closed, recovering her strength, taming her will, hoping she would not break as she faced him, but she knew it was in vain. Her trembling smile betrayed the confidence she hoped to convey as she spoke, her voice fading.

“I would rather have you stay as trusted friend than not have you at all.”

“I cannot hide what I feel for you.”

She walked towards him, needing to force the severity of his confession upon him. “You must, if you want to live! They will kill you if they were to find out, and I don’t even want to think what they’ll do to me…”

He held her face in his hands; she was scared, it was clear, vulnerable. A woman, child of Rome, wearing invisible shackles tighter than any slave. Being able to make decisions of her own will was a far removed luxury, and by every step she took, she was pinned against a cliff she could not evade from. He forced her to look him in the eye as he softly spoke, “I would dare the fucking Gods to part us.”

Spartacus pulled Cassia in for a soft kiss, at first, a delicate encounter of lips. The simple touch of flesh released a thunder that could rip the heavens apart, and he quickly realized that a kiss was not enough. He pulled her close into his embrace, with one hand still holding her face and the other already caressing her back. Soon his hand slid gently inside the shoulder straps of her dress, pulling them down, and the fine cloth fell aroundher feet, exposing her alluringly feminine body. He barely had time to admire her before she reached for him, already unwrapping his subligaria.

In a matter of seconds, both were laid upon the bed, bare skin caressing bare skin.Spartacus above her, his warm, moist kisses caressing her mouth, cheeks and neck. Ashis cock breached her she let out a pleasured gasp, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear her scream his name as she writhed beneath him. He quickened his pace, bothsets of hips working in synchronicity. As he thrusted faster and harder, her body met each connection, pleading to him for more. Her hands roamed his back, and without warning she dug her nails in as her orgasm washed through her, causing him to moan in both pain and pleasure. He too climaxed moments later, and rested his head upon her chest.

They stayed in momentary silence, each regaining strength when Sura’s words echoed through his head. You will never love another woman. He smiled.

“What is it?” Cassia asked as he lifted his head and looked at her.

“I was once told the Gods had chosen a path for me, never to be altered.” He planted a kiss softly on her lips and smiled. “They were wrong”


End file.
